Another Rainy Day

Today was another rainy day, so I stuck close to home. I worked on the second garden plot, digging at the pond and tearing up sods and moving those to cover the pin cherry sticks. I brought a bucket of muck from the swamp as well, although I don’t have enough room in the plot yet to bring more muck. Between rains as well I clipped bushes and raspberry canes to clear up the garden. When the rain drove me inside I read part of a novel and then did some inside work on the new part. I am trying to finish what I can of the tongue and groove cedar, at least until I run out of foam for insulation. When I was working on that task, I became tired though, feeling the impact of my nap yesterday and staying up late last night. Maybe I will go to sleep early tonight, although I am knee-deep into Greg Bear’s Eternity, the sequel to Eon which I read yesterday and today.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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